


Rich Enough

by TheManTheMythTheLazy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Date Night, I feel like there is a reason "light fluff" isn't a real tag, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Short One Shot, Simon Is Poor, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Wants To Give Baz Nice Things, Who reads fan fiction for "light fluff", Who writes fan fiction for "light fluff", i do apparently, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManTheMythTheLazy/pseuds/TheManTheMythTheLazy
Summary: Simon wants to give Baz the world. Unfortunately he is depressed and jobless, so he settles for taking him on a date instead.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Rich Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a vent piece for myself because being poor sucks, but that doesn't mean you can't create inexpensive moments.

I wish I was rich.

If I was, I could take Baz out on a fancy date in fancy suits, eating fancy food and then take a fancy walk about a fancy neighborhood. We’d even have some fancy sex. Not that I know what that looks like (because we haven’t even had normal sex yet), but it’s different, special. I just know it. Maybe it would involve licking champagne (from the Champagne region of France, none of that expensive fake stuff) off each others’ bodies. (Baz would probably veto that because it would be sticky and even in a sexy context there’s a line to be drawn).

The point is: I want to be rich. Rich and wasteful. I want to waste it all, money, time, energy, on Baz. I want to be rich just to lose it all spoiling him. Then I want to be rich again. (And the cycle continues).

Baz would say—has said—he doesn’t need these things. Because his family is rich and wasteful already. He would say—has said—that if I wanted an extravagant night, we could do that whenever we wanted. He doesn’t understand that’s not what I want. It’s outside of the point. Baz paying totally defeats the purpose.

There’s nothing sexy about me blowing Baz’s money on Baz. That’s just borrowing. No.

(Now if Baz wants to blow his money on me, for me, then that’s another story entirely.)

He’s just so disenchanted from rich life. I guess even if I had the money to do fancy stuff, it would just be another Tuesday for him. So if I want to spoil him, I gotta up my game.

The poor way.

When Baz gets home from class, I’m ready for him.

The door closes. The saxophone from Careless Whisper soars as Baz toes off his shoes. He looks at me with that raised eyebrow of his. It’s one of my favorite parts about him. I’m leaning against the door frame with a grin that says _oh yeah. This is happening._

“Snow? What’s going on?”

“I have big plans.” I nod towards our bedroom. “I laid out something special for you. Go put it on.”

A pleasant flush colors Baz’s cheeks. He must’ve fed before getting here, because it is rather vibrant against is pale skin. As he went into the bedroom I could see him try so hard to look neutral, to keep that sassy eyebrow in place. I’m not fooled. I can practically hear every dirty thought going through his mind as if he’d said them out loud.

I wait by the door.

He returns looking utterly baffled. “This…is not what I thought you meant.”

I give him my best innocent look. “What do you mean?” Like I don’t already know.

“These are _your_ clothes, Snow.”

“Were you expecting lingerie?” That beautiful flush of his returns.

Even in my ratty clothes he looks great. How? How can he look like he’s modeling faded jeans full of holes and a blue V-neck shirt that is more of a U-neck because of how many times it’s been in the wash?

It’s gentrification.

But damn if he doesn’t look great.

“There was nothing in your wardrobe that would be appropriate for where we’re going,” I say. “So you can borrow mine.” I can’t count the amount of times I’ve heard those words. I know it's never malicious, but still. It’s nice to say them for once. (Don’t get me wrong, going nice places so I can see Baz in a flower—power—suit does crazy things to my loins. It’s a good time.)

“And where exactly are we going, Snow?”

I grin.

We walk to the McDonald’s. (It’s close enough to walk, but just far enough to be inconvenient). Public transportation is a luxury. I think sometimes people forget that. It’s easier to remember when it’s about to rain (which it totally is because it’s cold and overcast and it always rains here).

I lead him up to the counter, my hand on the small of his back. “Get whatever you want,” I say with a flourish, like I am giving him the world. By this point Baz has mostly caught on to what I am trying to do.

“Do I have to order from the Saver Menu?” He says, smiling at me.

I shake my head. (But to be real, my wallet would very much like it if he did).

He does not.

I don’t either.

My wallet weeps. (This is why we walked).

We sit at a booth in the back of the restaurant. It doesn’t take long before our order is called and when I return with the tray set before us, Baz looks at me. “Alright, Snow, what is this about?” He’s not upset. He’s having fun. I can tell because the center of his eyebrows isn’t all crinkly.

“What do you mean?” I say, popping a chip in my mouth. “I’m taking my boyfriend out on a date. Is that weird?”

He studies me. “No,” he says.

“Are you having a nice time?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what this is about.”

I know he’s going through every moment of the past two weeks where the stress of balancing my financial situation and my abysmal mental health has caused some…emotional displays. On my own I can easily come up with four situations where I declared we needed to break up because I felt I wasn’t good enough for him because I can’t do nice things for him. (I feel guilty that both of us are consumed with keeping me afloat).

He chooses not to bring this up. He let’s me carry on and I am grateful.

After dinner we take the long way back to the flat. We still make good time because the wind has picked up and it’s started to mist. I don’t let go of his hand the entire time even though it feels like I’m holding an ice cube.

I stop him before he goes inside. I place my hands on the sides of his face. My thumb strokes just under his jaw. I actually like that he has a few inches on me when we stand together like this. I am at the perfect heigh to kiss his jaw. I resist for the moment. Instead I’m staring at him, taking in how much he loves me by the softness of his grey eyes.

“I know dating me hasn’t been the erotic gropefest you were wanting,” I say.

“Simon don’t apologize—”

I put my thumb to his lips. I can feel how gentle my smile is. It’s the kind that is all in the eyes. “I’m not,” I say, because neither of us can stand when the other apologizes for who he is. “I’m saying this because I want you to know that I love you.” I move a wet strand of his lovely black hair from his face. “And that I’m working on me, but while I do that, I want to do things for you.” There’s so much more I want to say to him, but all of it would consist of gushing about how wonderful he is. I love him, but his ego does _not_ need that.

“I—” My other thumb touches his lips. He quiets.

“So this is how I’m going to spoil you. You’re so rich and wasteful I thought it would be a change for you to put a toe into _my_ world now and again.” Emphasis on a toe. Because poverty is not just McDonald’s Saver Menu for dinner and walking everywhere. It’s so much bigger and pervasive. It becomes a part of your blood. It sticks with you even when you have it all. Baz doesn’t need to know all of that. But he should be grateful for having custom suits and be a little less snippy to his driver.

Anyway, this isn’t a lesson.

This is what is in my power to put into our relationship.

“Are you done?” Baz says, my thumbs still at his mouth.

“Yes.” I move them away, but you would have to pry me from his face.

“You don’t have to do anything special for me. If you want to, then have a go, but I do not want you thinking I need you to take me on fancy or not-so-fancy dates to stick around.” His arms come around me and it’s _freezing_ but I don’t care. “I’m never changing my mind, Simon. I’ve loved you through so much and I won’t stop now.”

He kisses me. He kisses me like I’ve just given everything I have.

Actually, no. That’s not right. I’m kissing him like that. It’s more accurate to say he’s kissing me like he’s just said his vows.

I pull away before it becomes too much. (I’m ready to say mine, but not after we just had McDonald’s.) (I guess the point is that it doesn’t matter what we just had. It will always be enough.)

(I will always be enough.)


End file.
